The Colours of Bruises
by lionsloyal
Summary: When Graves sees Dru's beaten face from Anna's claws, memories and anger floods into his mind. Graves POV from Jealously chapter 17. Please review.  One shot


**Hello once again! I have finally found time to write another fan fiction, though I didn't think I would be writing another Strange Angels I couldn't help but to when this idea came into my head. It's another POV from Graves, a scene in Jealously (chapter 17). I hope if you like it you'll take some time to review and maybe read my other Strange Angel fan fictions if you haven't already. **

**The Colours of Bruises**

A bruise is black, blue, yellow and green. My mother used to wear every shade of a bruise. Old ones have a yellowier brown colouration to them. The new fresh ones are purple with a blue hue to them. He had always been clever though, as the best abuser always is. He hit her in places where it wouldn't show. But if he slipped up he was clever enough to scare her into staying inside until they disappeared. The bruise itself was nothing compared to how she got it. I used to curl up into a tight ball, a pillow over my ears as I tried to block out the sounds of muscle pounding soft flesh. I tried to ignore the sounds of her muffled sobs and begging for him to stop hitting her.

When I was younger I tried to help my mother. I didn't like my step father hurting her, he scared me… but I was more scared of her being beaten to death. I would cry and pull on his arm, and sometimes bite him, yelling and waving my little weak fists and trying to get him away from her. He would pin me to the floor in an instant, yank off his belt and hit he with it. I used to scream for my mother to save me as I had tried to do for her. But she would just shake her head at me, and stand away watching her husband beat her young son.

I once went to the store with my mother, she had a black eye. She had needed to go out otherwise she would have waited for it to fade like usual. A woman she knew stopped her and asked her how she had bruised her face. My mother looked her straight into the eye and told her that it was nothing, which she had stupidly walked into the side of an open door. I learned that my mother was a good liar. I learned that she would do anything to protect the monster that was beating her. Because in many ways my mother had locked herself in the beast's cage, she had thrown the key away, and there was no escape.

'Jesus Christ', I said staring at Dru. Her face was covered in the bruises of every shade that they could be. Her lip was cut and slightly swollen.

'It's not bad', Dru said trying to be blasé. But she failed miserably, her voice quavered slightly and she did not believe her own words.

It was bad; it was reminiscent of my mother, when my step father had got carried away. I could hear my anger stirring; it was like a throbbing buzz of a wasp. The loup-garou inside me stirred as I stared at her, and as I took in her butchered appearance. I held Dru firmly, I needed to know, 'Who?' I said. I was only able to speak the one word, because anger made my tongue feel thick with wanting to spit out every curse in every language.

'Ow', she said pulling herself free from my grip. I felt my skin heat with the burden of my inner wulf, I felt my anger and it's. She was trying not to look at me; she was trying not to look me in the eye. She was trying to avoid answering my question. I drew myself up and asked again, 'Who?' I heard my voice as a command, the one that naturally came to me when I was amongst many Wulfen. 'Graves, we have to get out of here. Please. Let's go.' Her voice shook and something else stirred in me. It reminded me of me, when I was child. I had asked a countless amount of times for mom and me to leave. We never did, but we should have stayed, we should have made him leave. Dru wanted to run away, just like I had wanted to when I was a kid. Well tough, she wasn't going to. I was going to make her tell me who had done this to her.

'Who?' I asked for the third time. It was just Dru and I, and if she couldn't tell me, who could she tell? What was making her hold back? What was making her quail from me? It was not of fear of me, but for the question I asked. Why would she not answer me? Fury boiled under my skin; I could almost feel the ghosts of bruises made by my stepfather.

'Don't worry about it', Dru said again trying for nonchalance, but failing again. She pulled on her hoodie and winced without realising. She was bruised everywhere then. She zipped her hoodie up to the top. 'Let's go. I've got money; we can get off the grounds before they even know we…' She stopped to stare at me. Maybe because I hadn't budged, maybe because she realised that I was staying.

She tried again, 'Please, Graves, I have to get out of here.' She wanted me to calm down. But how could I? She had no idea to what I'd gone through as a child. She didn't know how much it riled me to see her like this, and not to know who had done it to her. I wanted to kill the bastard who had. This was Dru…_my Dru_. If she couldn't tell me… my thoughts swirled and became broken, in my anger the Other Side of me as peeking through. Incoherent thoughts formed and swelled, I wanted to say so much, I wanted to shake her into telling me. I wanted to shout at her to tell me. 'Who. Hit. You?' I managed to spit out again as the swell rose and rose inside of me.

She shook her head once. Stopped and then shook her head again, she tried to speak. But _still_ she couldn't tell me. I thought we were best friends, I thought we were more than that. If she couldn't tell me, did that mean it was even more terrible than I could imagine? Or did it mean that she was terrified for fear? I couldn't answer my own questions, because I was still waiting for her to answer mine. 'You had better tell me something. I hate not being told, Dru. You know I hate not being told.' I had finally managed to say more words. Yet in the softening of my voice, and my slight calmness she was still silent. Inside her eyes I could see a battle waging. But not one that fought to tell me. She didn't want to tell me. 'Fine', I spat, fury and hurt making my throat feel closed I moved away.

She screamed for me to stop and I did and turned, 'When you feel like telling me. Come and find me', I tried to be calm, I tried to be soft. Maybe I was scaring her with my reaction. But something told me that it wasn't that. But still no answer, she begged to leave again. 'Yeah. Run away. Sure. Just like my mom. Run away and go back each time. But I swear to God that I will find out who did this to you. Even if you don't think you can trust me.' I left; I heard the door smash into the tiles. I walked away fast and furiously. Anger burning and my old wounds bleeding.

I had begged and begged my mother for us to run away when I was a kid. Sometimes she did. But she would never take me with her. Dru was asking for me to leave, to help the abuser win. I would not leave, and I _would_ find who had done this to her. The bruises told of something bad. Dru was not my mother; I would not let her be. I would not let her be weak and afraid; she had to be strong to survive. And if she wouldn't be strong, if she wouldn't fight back, then I would do it for her, every step of the way, until my last breath.

**Disclaimer: Strange Angels belongs to Lili. St. Crow. **


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